


Dutiful

by useyourtelescope



Series: Intimacy [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourtelescope/pseuds/useyourtelescope
Summary: Despite the initially delayed consumation of their marriage, Clarke and Bellamy had not had any difficulty in fulfilling their nightly married duties in the years since. However, after the arrival of their first child, they had both been too fatigued to share a bed for anything other than sleep.When Clarke realised just how long it had been since she and Bellamy had been intimate with one another, she made up her mind to change that.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Intimacy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007064
Comments: 18
Kudos: 152
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Dutiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burninghoneyatdusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/gifts).



> Hello! I had never planned for this to become a series, but this was written as part of T100 Writers for BLM - If you’re not familiar with it, this is an initiative where you can make a donation in support of Black Lives Matter and prompt a writer or content creator to receive fic/art in return. See the [carrd](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/) for more details. 
> 
> This fic was prompted by Sam who asked for a sequel to Intimacy + pregnancy/kid fic - I decided to go down the kid fic route. It ended up with a bit of a different vibe to the first fic (see tags), but I hope you enjoy it all the same 💕
> 
> And a big thank you to [carrievew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/pseuds/carrieevew) who not only created a beautiful moodboard to accompany the fic, but was also a very encouraging beta reader!

After more than two years of marriage, Clarke had come to realise that many of her notions regarding the duties of a wife were misconceived. For all that she had been taught in preparation for her eventual marriage, she had never expected to feel such happiness from her position. 

Indeed the duty that Clarke had so struggled to fulfill during her first few days of marriage had become a regular occurrence once they had settled into their home — and a very pleasurable one at that — but added to that were so many other little moments of happiness that she’d had no notion of: the care her husband took in undressing her and the way his hands would linger to rub her shoulders after a long evening; the strong beat of his heart under her ear when they fell asleep; her gratification at his trust when he deferred to her, not only in matters of running the house, but when he was troubled by work; that slight amused upturn of his lips in place of a laugh when she made a pointed remark in company.

That is not to say there hadn’t been any challenges since they had left the comfort of the quiet country house they spent their honeymoon in and returned to London society. Despite Lord Kane’s patronage, the ton had been slower to accept Mr. and Mrs. Blake into their circles than the Lord or Mrs. Abigail Griffin had hoped when they had encouraged the match. No doubt the fact that it was largely the scandal of Mrs. Griffin’s prolonged dalliance with opioids that had blighted Clarke’s original standing with the ton caused her mother to fret about this circumstance so severely. Although invitations to society’s finest gatherings did not concern Clarke for her own sake, she knew how much it weighed on her mother to have the once-revered Griffin name thought so little of, not to mention the benefit certain society connections would be for her husband's burgeoning career.

So, every day when Bellamy had gone to work to further his career in the law, Clarke had done what some would consider even harder work: she had called on members of the ton. She had started with the wives of prominent judges and barristers, and once they had begun to accept her widened her efforts. Over time her diligence had paid off. Though some of her lessons on the more physical aspects of a wife’s role had been lacking, it seemed the ones that had schooled Clarke in how to act in society were well-taught: less than a year after her marriage, not only were Mr. and Mrs. Blake warmly welcomed into all the finest circles in London but as Mrs. Blake’s mother, Mrs. Abigail Griffin now received those invitations she had so missed as well.

This success had not been long-lived before the couple had faced another difficulty: Miss Octavia Blake declared her intention to quit her brother’s roof and live with her Aunt Indra instead. This had not initially appeared to be such a difficulty to Clarke who, despite having grown to care for Octavia like a sister, truly believed such a separation would be a good thing for the Blakes. Bellamy had been forced into the role of father to Octavia and now she was nearly of age to be out in society Clarke thought some distance might allow him to return to the role of only a brother. But Bellamy had not taken the news so well and had initially been set against the move, creating a tense atmosphere in the house. Thankfully, Bellamy did not consider it his wife’s duty to blindly obey him, and after weeks of Clarke’s careful counsel to brother and sister alike, Octavia had been less obstinate in explaining her wishes and Bellamy more understanding, and had eventually given his blessing to the move.

Once these obstacles had been faced, Clarke had thought they would slip into a quieter daily life, and she had been proved right initially. With only the two of them in the house, they had lived quite comfortably together, in a kind of domestic bliss that Clarke had not thought she would feel after her father had passed away, but her sense of growing contentment had changed entirely when she became a mother.

Although her pregnancy had sometimes given Clarke cause for agitation, she had not suffered from pains and illness to the same degree as many other ladies she knew — indeed, she dreaded to think what her husband might have done had she suffered more acutely, for Bellamy’s concern, particularly leading up to her confinement, had been extreme enough as it was.

But for all that she had teased his hovering, she had felt the lack of him acutely when her labour had arrived and the midwife and her mother had refused his entry, shocked that he had even suggested he might be present for the birth. The two ladies' convictions had ultimately failed in the face of Clarke’s pain, however. Bellamy had come running as soon as his wife had cried out for him, and even if he had been willing to heed the midwife a second time —which he had not—she would have not have been able to pry Clarke’s hand from his.  With Bellamy by her side, Clarke had safely delivered Rose Blake into the world, though she had not felt at ease until the babe had been declared healthy and the new mother and father had been left alone with their child.

The moment Bellamy had taken Clarke and Rose into his arms, she had been sure the child recognised her father far more easily than it had taken to Clarke as her mother. Although she knew that it took time for a baby’s sight to develop clearly, at the time she had thought that if Rose could see she would have seen nearly her mirror image reflected in Bellamy. ( Then, satisfied that both she and her baby were safe, Clarke had succumbed to exhaustion and slept.)

The thought was recalled to her nearly every day after as Rose grew, and she wasn’t the only one to notice the resemblance. Unfortunately, not everyone was so complimentary about Rose taking after her father’s darker features, but these whispers were soon squashed — at least in the presence of Mrs. Blake or her mother, after the time one of her mother’s former schoolfriends commented that it was ‘a shame’ the baby did not look more like her mother and Clarke immediately disinvited her from the Blake house.

But Clarke thought little of what general society thought of her and her child, not only because she had grown tired of the false attitudes of the ton, but largely because with all the challenges of motherhood she had little mental capacity left to care a whit for the opinion of anyone outside of her intimate circle.

That circle had been delighted with Rose Blake’s arrival, of course. Her close friends all declared Rose to be the sweetest little baby they had ever seen (excepting Harper, but considering she was by that time mother to the charming one-year-old Jordan Green, Clarke could forgive that she did not deign to use the superlative) and her effect on the immediate family had been greatly welcomed. Mrs. Abigail Griffin was inordinately happy to become a grandmother — not least because it gave her a welcome topic of conversation to pivot to whenever some more trying person tried to pry into her past secrets — and had already begun the search to find the best governess in London, even if Rose would not be in need of one for quite some time. Although Octavia had initially been making regular visits to see her brother and sister-in-law since relocating to her aunt’s house, these had waned since she had debuted in society and found plenty of new friends and (much to Bellamy’s chagrin) suitors to meet instead — however, Octavia positively asserted that none matched the charms of one Miss Rose Blake and henceforth no suitor, no matter how amiable, could prevail on her to change her engagement if she had already planned to see her niece.

Both ladies slipped into their roles of grandmother and aunt artlessly, which Clarke had been somewhat jealous of in the beginning. 

For all that she desired to be a good mother — remembrances of the distance she had felt from her own mother as a child prominent in her mind as she endeavoured not to let the same happen with her daughter — Clarke did not feel it came naturally to her, certainly not in the way it seemed that fatherhood was innate to her husband. And his notion of fatherhood was thankfully not the same one that so many of his peers aspired to.

No, Bellamy Blake was not a man who thought a child should be seen sparingly and never heard. He was sometimes quicker and more effective at seeing to his baby’s tears than her nursemaid and on returning home from work, no matter the hour, he immediately went to find his darling girl. 

Neither did Bellamy show any sign of ill-temper at his day being regularly interrupted by the various whims of a growing baby. Clarke felt she had learned the true meaning of patience on days Rose suffered from teething pains, but Bellamy never acted like his nonchalance was of particular effort. When Clarke had idly commented on this, one night when Rose refused to be soothed by anyone, Bellamy informed her that his experience of a young Octavia had stood him in good stead for raising his own child, especially since he was a grown man and now, thanks to his work and Clarke’s wealth, in a position to afford assistance. 

The response, though plainly delivered, had been a stark reminder to Clarke of just how different Rose’s life could have been if not for Clarke’s status. Although there were undoubtedly things Clarke still did not know, she had learned much about her husband’s early life since their wedding and knew that one point he had been very close to having to go to work when he had still been a young boy himself. 

Clarke knew better than to assume she and her husband might never face difficult circumstances again, given how swiftly people had turned on the Griffins when her father’s death and mother’s addiction had suddenly followed one another, but even when the Griffins had been threatened with being cast out of polite society, they had never been in danger of being without fortune. No matter what lay ahead in their future, her daughter would never have a childhood like her father’s and for that Clarke was grateful. 

Considered in that light, Clarke felt there was very little wanting in her life as Mrs. Blake. 

And yet.

Clarke had recently realised she had come to miss a certain intimacy she and her husband had regularly enjoyed prior to their baby’s arrival.

Although she had heard stories from other ladies of their husband’s not visiting their chambers as soon as they were with child — and in most of those cases this had been a welcome development, as they had considered their duty fulfilled and had no wish to continue with the nightly visits unnecessarily — such had not been the case in the Blake household. 

As they had settled into their new positions as husband and wife they had spent the first few months of marriage they were visiting each other’s chambers regularly in the nighttime, sometimes thinking themselves very clever for fooling the servants (though of course they never were, for any man or woman who thinks their servants do not know everything that is going on in their house is a fool indeed). Eventually, the couple had taken to sharing the bed in Clarke’s chambers most days, having grown more comfortable just to sleep side by side, regardless of whatever other intimacies they might share in the late evening (or indeed the early morning as was sometimes the case). Clarke had grown used to the warm presence of her husband’s body by her side and found  it difficult to fall asleep when he was not there if he was occasionally working late, and had taken to reading until he joined her in bed on those nights rather than tossing and turning in vain. 

Therefore, neither of them had stopped the habit of sharing a bed or their lovemaking once Clarke had become pregnant — if anything Clarke had found that her husband had rather increased his attentions once her rounded belly became more prominent, a surprising development which she had thoroughly enjoyed. 

They continued to share the same bed after Rose was born, but this had been only to sleep, sometimes wearily collapsing into bed, either sprawled over each other or in their separate sides of the bed, too tired to even reach for their beloved for comfort, so nothing more had been initiated by either party. 

At first, Clarke had been glad of this. Even after the necessary waiting period had passed, she had been too weary to have taken much pleasure from the act. 

And though she knew enough of her husband to believe he would love a baby girl as equally as a boy, she had been both relieved and gratified to see the proof of it; in how Bellamy cherished their little Rose, and never once acted as if he intended to try again for a son.

But while she had been glad in the beginning, it had been six months now — and though Clarke’s first thought at that milestone was surprise that half a year had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye, it was not long before she began to grow wistful to spend some more meaningful, more physical time with her husband. 

One morning, when Clarke had been musing on this for about a week but had not yet found time to voice the thought with her husband, she went to the nursery to be greeted by a sight that never failed to warm her heart: Rose curled up drowsily in her father’s arms as Bellamy grinned down at his daughter. The little girl had recently started sleeping better through the night — much to the relief of the entire household for she had quite a set of lungs, something Bellamy had joked she had inherited from her mama — but she still rose early. Bellamy had become increasingly grateful for this since he had been required to work long evenings as of late and thus was able to still have more playtime with his daughter. Rose did not seem in the mood for playing this morning though if her pronounced yawn was anything to go by.

“Good morning,” Clarke greeted as she sat next to Bellamy, his free hand moving immediately to rest on Clarke’s shoulder as he returned her greeting. 

“She’s a sleepy one this morning,” Bellamy said, one hand brushing Rose’s curls away from her forehead.

“So she is,” Clarke replied, noting another yawn, this one setting her off as well. “Do you think she didn’t sleep enough?” Clarke asked, frowning since she hadn't heard Rose cry in the night and hadn't been called by the nursemaid either. “Why did Jenny not fetch us?”

“I already spoke to Jenny,” Bellamy replied reassuringly. “She said Rose only woke once and settled quickly.”

This did not appease Clarke’s frown. “But then why should she be so tired when she is normally wide awake by now.”

“Because she’s busy growing. Just try to wait until your father comes home before you impress your mama with your latest skills, Miss Blake,” Bellamy said in that sweet tone of voice he reserved for his daughter, pressing a kiss into her dark tufts of hair before passing her to her mother.

“Will you not be home for dinner again?” Clarke asked as she held Rose carefully, the girl instinctively curling up against her chest. 

“I’m afraid not,” Bellamy said apologetically, assuring her there was no need to stay awake until he came home, even though he well knew she was unlikely to fall asleep before then.

Clarke didn’t respond immediately, smiling as Rose adjusted to rest her head on her mama’s bosom and started tapping her chest. “Oh, now you’re awake,” Clarke said in amusement.

“Are you hungry, little Rose?” Bellamy asked even as he stood and adjusted his shirt.

This drew Clarke’s attention to the fact that, excepting his jacket, he was fully-dressed for work, something he normally did only after playing with Rose since she had a habit of drooling (or worse) on their clothes, especially at this time of day.

“Are you going already?” she said as she opened her robe so Rose could feed. “You haven’t had breakfast.”

Bellamy assured her that he would be fine, noting an earlier start would enable an earlier return. 

When Clarke responded that she would arrange for some food to be kept aside for him in case he was hungry when he returned home, Bellamy fixed her with an amused look. 

“Ever diligent with your wifely duties, my love,” he remarked, eliciting an eye-roll from his wife. 

Once they had settled into marriage, Bellamy had started to tease Clarke about her notions of wifely duty; at first, this had been in relation to the lengths she had gone to in attempting to bring about the consummation of their marriage during their honeymoon, but over time it had become something of a shared amusement between them, regardless of how regular those duties were or not.

Clarke was too tired to think of a retort to this, but Bellamy did not seem to expect one, merely asking, “And you have company tonight do you not? Your mother and Wells are joining you for dinner?”

“Mama received another invitation that she could not refuse,” Clarke explained, holding back a grimace when Rose suckled a little too harshly on her breast. “But Wells is still coming.”

She could tell from the furrow in his brows that her mother’s decision didn’t sit well with him. Despite a prickly start, Bellamy and Abigail had slowly grown fond of each other over the years, even if they rarely understood one another. Still, Bellamy held his tongue on this point, merely saying, “Well, I am glad you will have company.”

She was just thinking that her mother’s change of plans did not concern her for it would be nice to spend some time with Wells when it occurred to her that she had been thinking the same in relation to her husband. 

It was not that they spent no time together — aside from the recent demands Bellamy’s work made on his time, the opposite was true. But, when they were together they often talked only about Rose — not that they had many other exciting topics of conversation, but Clarke thought it might be nice to spend a romantic evening together rather than spend the time they had with one another acting only as parents. 

When Bellamy leaned down to say goodbye he left a kiss on Rose’s forehead before moving to his wife. Instead of leaving it at a peck as he usually did before work Clarke raised a hand to keep his head in place. It was not a heated kiss, certainly would not have become one when Rose was still attached to Clarke’s breast, but it was nice to feel his lips lingering against hers in a way they had not done for an age.

When Bellamy moved back she could see a curious glint in his eyes at her prolonging the kiss but he did not comment, merely looked appreciatively at her before taking his leave.

The look was enough however to reaffirm Clarke’s feeling that they should spend more intimate time together, and she decided there was no time like the present to put a plan into action. 

That afternoon while Rose had napped, Clarke had reviewed her selection of nightgowns, heading first to the one with the delicate bows along the neckline that Bellamy seemed to particularly like her in. Unfortunately, it seemed that motherhood had increased the size of her already generous bosom too much to fit into the fabric comfortably. The fact that her first step, which she had considered to be the easiest, did not go to plan did not bode well, but Clarke was undeterred. 

She managed to find another that still fit and had more decorative details than her usual attire. It did not call attention to the assets of her figure the way she might have hoped, but she did not intend to wear it for long. 

Long after Rose had gone to bed that night, and Clarke had bid goodnight to Wells, Clarke changed into that nightgown and then saw to her hair. Bellamy always preferred her curls loose, and she tried to tame them into a pretty but relaxed style, as opposed to the convenient way she usually wore her hair to bed as of late.

Clarke smiled to herself when she heard her husband’s footsteps up the stairs. He usually went to his chambers to change before joining her, but never took long. She put the brush down and observed herself in the glass. Satisfied with her appearance, Clarke thought Bellamy would like it too. She quickly dabbed some perfume on her wrists and neck before turning in her seat to look at the door expectantly, but to her disappointment, it never opened. 

Clarke let another minute pass but when there was still no sign of her husband she decided to investigate. His door was ajar but she could see the faint glow of candlelight cast from the other side of the hallway. She crept slowly forward until she realised it was coming from the nursery. 

Chiding herself for having been so swept up in her appearance that she had not heard her child’s cry, Clarke increased her pace as silently as she could until she reached the door to the nursery. It was already ajar but she could not see inside until she pushed it fully open. 

Her concern melted immediately when she realised there had been no cry; Rose was sleeping as softly as an angel, under the watchful eyes of her father. 

Bellamy was crouched down by their little girl’s cot, but turned his gaze to the door, his loving smile widening at the sight of his wife, which she returned with ease. 

She did not know why she didn’t think he would wish to see Rose on arriving home, of course he would after having been gone all day. 

They both knew better than to speak and risk waking her, so after the couple shared a fond look, Clarke blew him a kiss and returned quietly to her bedroom. 

Although she initially thought to wait for him atop the bed in her attempt at seduction, she started to feel a chill and so settled under the covers. 

Bellamy did not keep her waiting very long. “Rose is sleeping well,” he murmured as he closed the door behind him.

“Yes,” Clarke agreed. “She went down faster tonight than before — though it may not keep. You know how Mother insists on reminding me of how I had seemed to be sleeping better as a baby before I started waking up regularly.” After this statement, Clarke recalled her resolve that they should also be discussing other things aside from parenthood, and so she immediately straightened and pushed down the covers so that Bellamy could see the nightgown she had chosen. 

Bellamy smiled lightly as he always did when she complained about her mother’s sometimes more unhelpful comments, but did not seem to notice.

Years ago Clarke would have been put off by this lack of a response, but now she was willing to be a little more direct with her husband. “Do you like my nightgown?”

His eyes swept over her as he lifted the coverlet on his side of the bed. “Yes, it’s lovely. Is it new?”

His response certainly sounded genuine, although she knew he had seen her in it plenty before. Not that she expected him to remember every one of her garments, but as he sat down next to her Clarke grew concerned at the pronounced droop of his eyelids.

“You look tired, my love,” Clarke said, instinctively reaching a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes. 

He shook his head, but his eyes closed in a weary expression as he leaned into her hand, prompting her to kiss his forehead. 

“You smell nice,” he whispered. 

He tilted his head to press a kiss to her neck, but it was without the heat Clarke had been hoping to feel that evening. 

“Should I be jealous that you wore your best perfume to dine with Mr. Jaha?” he continued in a gravelly tone. 

Clarke’s lips twisted in amusement. There had been a time early in their marriage when Bellamy had seemed jealous of her childhood friend, while the protective Wells had been distrustful of the unknown Mr. Blake. However, once the two men had gotten to know each other she had been glad to see a friendship bloom between them.

“You have found me out,” Clarke said wryly. “Whenever you are not here I am making love to Wells.”

“I knew it,” he said without exerting himself. “From now on, I shall be keeping a closer eye on you, Mrs. Blake.” The statement was all the more amusing to Clarke given the fact that he could not manage to keep his eyes open as he made it.

She could have told him that the perfume had been purely for his benefit, but given that Bellamy had all but fallen asleep in her arms already, Clarke decided against that confession. 

Instead, she shuffled down the bed, Bellamy coming with her easily, his head lolling into the crook of her neck. Clarke blew out the candles and tucked the coverlet closely around them both before falling asleep beside him. 

When she had been a new wife Clarke would have taken this failed attempt at seduction as a challenge and have felt it necessary to think of some other plan to draw her husband into her bedchamber for a more exciting activity than rest. 

However, much had changed in the years since she had feigned an injury to draw his attention. Bellamy was no longer a near-stranger, but instead her dearest husband and her closest confidante. There did not seem any need to be coy with him over such matters. Before Rose’s arrival into their lives, they had often spoken very frankly about their desires in the bedroom. Clarke had been unsure at first — a lady’s pleasure had been something so little spoken of it had been hard to unlearn the habit of so many years. Even though she had begun to discuss the subject with a few select friends when she had come of age this had always been done in hushed whispers. It had been strange to be invited to speak so directly about her pleasure, but Clarke soon learned that her husband greatly enjoyed hearing his wife tell him what sort of attentions she preferred in minute detail and she had become more vocal during the act itself, aided by his encouraging whispers. 

Though they had not had such a conversation since they had become parents, Clarke knew Bellamy would not think any less of her for raising the subject. However, that certainty still did not prevent all of her nerves as she knocked on the door to his bedchamber four nights after her failed attempt.

She had decided to wait until the demands of his case lessened to broach the subject — for even if his feelings matched hers, neither of them would take much pleasure from the act when he was still fatigued. 

But last night he had returned home with a relieved smile on his face informing her that he would no longer need to be working such late hours and they could return to a more regular pattern. 

He had even been given the following day off as a reward for his efforts, which had been a welcome gesture from his employers, although the timing did not allow all the family to fully enjoy his unexpected day of leisure.

It was a day Clarke normally reserved for receiving calls, and though she might have said she was not at home to certain visitors it so happened that her first visit was from two notable ladies in the ton that she could not cut — as much as she might have liked to, considering their terrible conversation. 

She eyed Bellamy enviously when he greeted them in the sitting-room to give the ladies one of his usual charming smiles, before leaving the room — the ladies assuming he had gone to his study, as their husbands did on the occasions they had been home when Clarke had visited their houses, but Clarke knew he would be in the nursery. She did not feel jealous that Bellamy would be enjoying their daughter’s company, while she had to talk only of new muslins and upcoming balls with people she cared little for; he had been so deprived of time with Rose as of late that it seemed only right he should have this opportunity. However, once her companions had reiterated for the third time that she simply must visit the new milliner they favoured for her next bonnet, Clarke did begin to count the minutes before she could join her family. 

Join them she did as soon as the ladies had departed, reaching the entryway to the nursery in time to hear Bellamy singing to Rose who stared up at him with wide, entranced eyes. Their newest maid Anna was hovering in the corner of the room, having paused in her task of collecting Rose’s dirty clothes to listen to the deep, soothing tones of Bellamy’s voice. The girl had a misty look in her eyes even though it was not a sentimental song, but once she noticed Clarke in the doorway she immediately resumed her duties. Clarke sent her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, for she did not want the poor girl to think she would berate her; Clarke could not fault anyone who wanted to listen to her husband’s singing. 

Bellamy noticed her in the doorway but did not pause his song for speech. By the time he had finished, Anna had left with a full basket and Clarke was seated beside him on the rug, Rose lying on a cushion between them.

“I have not heard that song before,” Clarke said. It was enough for Rose’s gaze to alter to her mama, but it soon returned to her father’s countenance. “Is it another sailor’s shanty?”

“Yes,” Bellamy affirmed. “But I changed some of the words to be more appropriate for Rose’s ears,” he said, playing with his daughter’s feet as he did so. Her resultant mirth elicited a laugh from her mama as well. 

The first time Clarke had found him singing a shanty to their daughter, Clarke had been initially surprised by his choice of song, until she remembered that Bellamy’s father had been a sailor before he had sadly passed away at sea when Bellamy had been only five years of age. Bellamy had been somewhat apologetic over the propriety of such a song before he explained that some of his most treasured memories of the man’s time onshore with his wife and son were those of him singing sailor’s songs to Bellamy as he went to sleep; with a sudden prick of tears in her eyes, Clarke had hastily assured her husband that of course she did not mind him singing the same songs to their daughter. 

“I think we need not fear her learning any unsavoury words just yet,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be so certain. She is very intelligent, just like her mama — aren’t you, Rose?”

In response, Rose only grumbled. However, it was not the face she pulled when she was truly discomfited, so Clarke assumed she was merely annoyed that her father had stopped singing. Rose would let them know if anything else was the matter — very vocally, no doubt. 

“Do you want another song, Rose?” Clarke said, unable to help slipping into a tuneful voice as she spoke. 

“Perhaps your mama could sing to you, Rose?” Bellamy suggested. “I am sure she will sing you songs that are much more proper than mine.”

“And ones that will be infinitely less enjoyed.” Although Clarke had learnt to play and sing many songs, she did not rate her ability highly. She was far more willing to sing to her daughter than to the many critical town mamas who had invited her to sit at their piano but Clarke did not think Rose liked it so much as when Bellamy sang — not that Clarke blamed her. 

Still, she let herself be convinced to sing and any embarrassment she felt over her plain voice was short-lived when it made her daughter happy.

“Did you enjoy that, Rose?” Clarke said afterwards, her fingers gently tickling Rose’s tummy, for which she was rewarded with a toothless smile. “No wonder your Aunt Octavia doesn’t believe us when we tell her about your tantrums — she only sees you smiling so sweetly.”

“She should know better, Octavia had the worst tantrums,” Bellamy recalled.

“You did not mention that in her presence when she last visited,” Clarke recalled.

“It did not seem wise given how little I have seen of her lately,” Bellamy acknowledged. “But I thought I might call on her and Indra one day next week.”

“That would be nice,” Clarke began, but something that flickered in his countenance told her he had meant for it to be a solitary visit. “You mean to go alone?” she clarified.

“I received a letter from Indra this morning,” Bellamy said, keeping his eyes on Rose even as he removed the missive from his pocket and passed it to his wife. “Octavia received her first marriage proposal.”

Her hand had just closed over the letter when Clarke’s eyes widened in surprise at the statement. She knew that Octavia had become very popular during her short time in society, but having been attending fewer functions than previously Clarke had not realised by quite how much. 

“She refused him,” Bellamy informed Clarke, entirely unnecessarily in her opinion — had Octavia accepted an offer of marriage at barely the age of eighteen, he would not have appeared half so calm as he did now. 

“But Indra was concerned?” Clarke asked. Rose responded first with a kick of her legs, presumably having noticed her parent’s attention wandering. 

“She does not think Octavia is seriously contemplating marriage yet,” Bellamy said while Clarke offered Rose a variety of toys, “but thought she and I should have a conversation with her about being careful not to raise any of her suitor’s hopes unduly.”

Clarke nodded at this sensible suggestion, smiling down at Rose who seemed to like her shaking the rattle. There was always the possibility that the Blake siblings would find themselves at odds on such a topic, but if Indra was also to be present then Clarke did not fear this outcome too badly. 

“If you have no objection?”

“No. I think it wise,” she said truthfully. But while his making plans to see someone else reminded Clarke of the rather private appointment she wished to make with her husband, she was not about to discuss it in front of her daughter — regardless of how little the girl would understand. 

Besides, this domestic interlude only lasted a short time until her next caller arrived, followed by others throughout the afternoon. Her last visitor was her mama, and though her extended visit was welcome, this meant Clarke was not alone with her husband until they dined together that evening. They had a pleasant meal, during which they shared a varied conversation, but Clarke did not feel it the right time to discuss anything intimate in nature when they were being attended to by servants throughout the meal. 

However, after dinner when Bellamy expressed an inclination for retiring early to make up for his many recent late nights, Clarke readily agreed. She did not plan to change his mind that evening but thought it would provide a good opportunity for private discourse before bed. 

Once they had both retired to their respective bedchambers, Clarke wasted no time in dismissing her maid Hattie after she had untied her stays, her growing impatience mixed with nerves enabling her to hastily discard her clothes and pull on a plain nightgown and robe with ease. That same impatience led her to cross the hall to knock on her husband’s door without waiting for him to come to her.

Bellamy had yet to grow enough used to his raised position in society to have become entirely at ease with having a valet to help him dress and so never made use of the man’s services on days he did not venture out. Clarke usually teased him about this, though she did enjoy the more messily curled style he left his hair in when he attended to it himself — unlike his valet Thomas who could be heard grumbling whenever he saw his master looking so unkempt .  Today she was glad for this preference as it did not cause her further delay. 

She entered once she heard him call in response, shutting the door quietly behind herself. 

“Clarke?” he said, turning to face her, his brow rising in confusion. He had only just started to unfasten the fall of his pantaloons but had already removed his shirt and Clarke took a moment to admire his half-undressed form. Even in the dim candlelight he still looked as strong and handsome as the first night they had laid themselves bare before one another. 

Her body, however, had changed immensely in the last year. One of her hands crept over her stomach unconsciously, noting it was much fleshier than it had once been. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Is Rose — ”

“Rose is fine,” she assured him hastily, watching the concerned lines disappear from his countenance. “That is, I believe she is still asleep. I only…”

“Yes, my love?” he murmured, taking a few steps towards her. 

Clarke tilted her head up to meet his gaze, sharp in its intensity, but soft in its warmth. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, “Do you still think I’m beautiful?”

His brows furrowed, though his lips twisted into a teasing smile. “Of course I do. You must be more fatigued than you own if you don’t know that.”

Clarke smiled lightly, as she knew he meant it but was not fully reassured. It had not been what she had intended to ask, but on being faced with the magnificence of his chest, remembrances of stories of men who took lovers when their wives no longer pleased them, particularly after having children, could not help but come to mind. 

She supposed her question was lacking in specificity. “I mean to say...do you still desire me?”

His teasing look vanished. “Where has this come from?”

“You have not tried — you have not wanted to be intimate since Rose was born.”

“That does not mean I don’t love you.”

“I did not ask if you still loved me,” Clarke said, somewhat missishly. “I asked if you still desired me.”

“Of course I desire you,” he said hotly.

“How can you say ‘ _ of course’ _ in such a manner when you have not shown any evidence of your claim!”

To her annoyance, Bellamy let out a sharp bark of laughter in the face of her declaration. “Perhaps I should talk less about my work at home if you are going to argue with me like a lawyer.”

The laugh brightened his face and that look coupled with his hands on his hips as the candlelight cast a glow onto the sculpted planes of his bare chest would, on an ordinary day, have been enough to make Clarke swoon.

But Clarke only felt disappointed and cast her gaze downwards.

“We agreed after our honeymoon that we would always speak plainly with one another. And I like to think that for the most part we have. You must not tease me to avoid answering, Bellamy.”

“Clarke,” he said softly. When she did not make any immediate response, his large hands took hers into his own. She let him, though she did not look up even as he placed a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Clarke, you must know that I desire you just as much as I did when we first married — More even, for now my admiration for you is even greater than it was then in so many different ways.” 

She could not remain unmoved by this speech, and Clarke hesitantly raised her gaze to his. He looked at her intently as he squeezed her hands. 

“If I have made you believe otherwise, I am sorry,” he continued. “It was only that I...I did not wish to rush you.”

Clarke nodded, though the movement lacked fluidity. “And that is what I would have thought after only three months or four, but it has been six months now — no, nearer seven. I would have thought even the most patient man might have at least inquired?” she finished on something of a jest, but Bellamy did not look amused.

“It has taken you this long to think of it yourself,” he noted.

Clarke supposed this was not very far off the mark. “But if I had not said anything when would you have?”

“I don’t know,” he said, though there was something in his face that suggested there was more behind this simple answer.

“I feel like you are keeping something from me.”

Bellamy sighed. He let her hands drop and ran a hand through his hair. “It is nothing.”

“If something is bothering you then I insist you tell me.”

“You insist, do you?” Bellamy said, amusement crossed with something more serious in his countenance.

“I do. After all, it is my duty as your wife to ease your burden,” she said, recalling their private joke. In truth, she spoke only partly in jest now, but her remark had the desired effect of widening the smile that graced his face. 

“I don’t believe that is quite what was in our vows.”

“ _ Bellamy _ .”

Bellamy hesitated, but eventually took her hand and led her to the seat. There was enough space for both to sit side by side, but Clarke found herself sitting so close that her knees rested on his thigh. She tucked her head onto his chest when Bellamy rested his arm on her shoulder. 

He was silent at first and her impatience rose but noticing the tense movement of his jaw she tamped down her impulse to prompt him. 

Finally, he began, “Since Rose has been born I have been thinking more about my childhood and my mother.”

This was said plainly, but it made Clarke tilt herself further into his embrace in concern. He squeezed her shoulder, and she felt she had been right to worry when he continued, “And especially about Octavia’s father.”

“Yes?” she said carefully. She knew Bellamy had been nine years of age when he had gained a stepfather, though it had been clear from stories Clarke had heard from both siblings that while the man had doted on his own child, he had not cared a whit for his wife’s son. Clarke knew the attitude was sadly not a unique one in any rank of society, but the thought still caused her pain for what Bellamy must have felt as a child. 

“He was very fond of Octavia, but,” Bellamy hesitated before continuing, “he was not best pleased with her as a baby.”

This gave her pause for she had not heard this side of the story before. “What do you mean?” 

“He had been hoping for a boy,” he explained, his gaze flickering to their feet. “Once Octavia grew older and could speak, he came to care for her, but before that…”

“He was cruel to her,” Clarke said, unable to keep the gasp from her voice.

“No,” Bellamy said hastily, “he merely ignored her, but...” He cleared his throat and began again, “He was so determined to have a son. My mother was in so much pain at first it was I who looked after Octavia, but still — he insisted they start trying again before she was ready,” he said, hardly able to complete the sentence.

“Oh, Bellamy,” Clarke uttered. She moved to sit in his lap and wrapped her arms around his broad back, Bellamy easily slipping into her embrace.

“I could not bear to hurt you, Clarke,” he said into her hair.

Clarke clung to his shoulders tightly, her heart-breaking at the crack in his usually strong voice. “You wouldn’t,” she said soothingly. “I know you would never,” she whispered into his cheek as she stroked his hair.

“I don’t care if we don’t have a son,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Even if we never had another child Rose would be enough for me — you both would be enough.”

“I know,” Clarke said, louder this time as his grip around her waist tightened. She peppered kisses on the side of his face, trying to give him the strength he needed. “I know.”

She was not sure how long they sat there, Clarke slowly stroking Bellamy’s hair and back, whispering reassurances to him as he buried his head in her shoulder, taking calming breaths. When he finally raised his head, her robe was slightly damp where it had laid and she could not help but press a kiss between his brows at the strained look on his countenance.

“I’m sorry,” he began, but she did not let him finish.

“Don’t be sorry. _ I  _ am sorry that I was so full of my own thoughts that I did not notice you had this on your mind,” Clarke said, her worries now seeming inconsequential.

“I did not want you to notice — and it has not been all of the time. I have been very happy since Rose has been born ,  truly,” he said, and she could not mistake the love in his eyes. “It was only sometimes when I would think about us being intimate again that I would remember.”

Clarke nodded in understanding. 

“I do want to,” he said. “But only if you desire it and are ready . ”

“It’s alright,” Clarke said, stroking his cheek lovingly. “I assure you that I have been fully healed for some time now. I feel in excellent physical condition to resume lovemaking whenever we feel inclined to — But, I think perhaps not tonight.”

This made him laugh, and more of the tension left his shoulders. 

“No, perhaps not,” he agreed. 

“You will come to bed with me though?” she said, running a hand up and down his bare arm.

“Of course,” he said, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “I can hardly remember the last time I slept in here.”

“True,” Clarke said fondly. She brushed the now matted curls away from his forehead before reluctantly leaving the circle of his arms. She stood and offered him her hand.

That night there was a difference in how Clarke and Bellamy shared her bed to recent nights; although they only slept, they were loathe to part from one another and their restfulness the next morning was as much derived from that comfort as it was the additional hours undisturbed in bed. On waking they spoke more plainly about their situation and soon came to an understanding. 

Although they did not feel they could immediately resume the kind of passionate lovemaking they had shared in the past, it was enough to feel a resumption of greater intimacy by making more time for one another, whether that be through sharing substantial discourse or leisurely kisses.

Clarke would have been happy to progress from this after the first week, but circumstances prevented an immediate progression. Jenny contracted cold at the same time Rose’s teeth began bothering her again and so she required more of her mama than ever. Although their housekeeper Mrs. Gibbs insisted she could temporarily see to many of Jenny’s duties, having more experience with babies than any of the other maids, Rose did not take to her very well and Clarke was not about to sit in the parlour entertaining company when her daughter was upset, no matter who her guests might be. As Bellamy’s work had become less demanding he was able to assist his wife occasionally, but once Rose would finally settle, both were too tired from the effort of soothing her to have any appetite for something other than sleep. 

After what felt like a very long week for the entire household, the pain in Rose’s gums seemed to ease again. Clarke awoke one morning brightened by an improved sleep, Rose having woken only once the previous night and Bellamy having attended to her in the morning before work, and looked forward to a more fruitful day. Her spirits dampened somewhat when she went to dress and saw the empty shelves in her wardrobe. 

Clake sighed, recalling she had told Mrs. Gibbs that certain tasks could be put to one side since the servants were having to assist with various duties while Jenny recovered, and their new maid Anna was still learning. She had instructed they prioritise the cleaning of Rose’s clothes since she went through so many, and Bellamy’s since he was going out the most. Knowing she had so many old clothes, Clarke had not thought she would have any problems until she realised that her old dresses were all tailored to a shape she no longer had. 

She had tried on five dresses before she found one that could be worn, and even that was only with a supreme effort on Hattie’s part to lace her into the clothing.

Years of wearing uncomfortable dresses in the latest styles, particularly when she had been first out, served Clarke well enough to go about her day with a smile on her face, but by the end of it, her breasts were painfully sore. She realised the only clean nightgowns in her wardrobe were also ones she had not worn in an age — the more fitted, alluring style that had been made for her wedding —and  Clarke could not face the thought of wearing them now. 

Knowing she would not sleep well if she was uncomfortable, Clarke briefly considered wearing one of her looser undergarments before she hit upon another solution. 

Dismissing Hattie once she had been unlaced, Clarke scurried into her husband’s bedchambers. She knew Bellamy was still in his study and she took advantage of the empty room to open his wardrobe and remove one of his nightshirts. They were loose on him anyway and she was sure this would mean an even looser fit on herself.

Once she had stepped out of her remaining undergarments and pulled the shirt over her head, Clarke realised it was a little shorter than she had expected. Still, it more than achieved the desired result for her upper body and she would happily sacrifice the cooler legs for one night in that trade-off. After all, once Bellamy came to bed his naturally high body heat would assist.

At this thought, the door opened. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw her husband had entered. “Are you all finished?” she asked as she bent to retrieve the clothes she had removed. 

“Yes.”

Surprised he was not more forthcoming, she straightened and turned to find him staring at her with a strange expression on his countenance, one that seemed to be particularly directed towards her unusual attire. 

“I borrowed your shirt because my clothes have not been washed yet,” Clarke explained. “You don't mind?” She had not thought such a thing would bother him.

Once again his response was succinct. “No.”

Clarke cocked her head, studying his countenance more carefully. “Bellamy,” she said, a sudden thought entering her mind, “do you  _ like  _ that I'm wearing this?”

“Yes,” he replied.

The roughness in his voice combined with the heat in his eyes, neither seen nor heard by Clarke in quite a while, suddenly made her feel light-headed. She took a few steps closer to him. "It is only an old shirt," she said. Amusement was clear in her tone, but she also moved her left hand still holding the dirty clothes to the side, so that his view was unimpeded. 

“That may be, but — you look very well in it.”

“Oh? Do you really think so?”

In lieu of a response, he took the few remaining steps to reach her and cupped his hands around her face, covering her lips with his.

Clarke dropped the clothes balled into her hand as she returned the kiss, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Though they had kissed more often as of late, this one held more heat behind it, which she very much enjoyed. 

“I must look more than just ‘very well’,” Clarke said appreciatively when he broke away, tipping her head back when Bellamy started to trail kisses down her throat. 

He laughed, the reverberation a welcome feeling through her skin. “Your legs,” he said in more of a growl before running a hand up one of them and making Clarke shiver.

“If only I had known that the way into your bed was an old shirt when we first married. It would have saved me much effort — and money for my trousseau.”

Bellamy moved so he could meet her gaze, which made her pout although she was glad to see the mirth on his face.

“Clarke.”

“Bellamy,” she returned.

A myriad of emotions were covered in their shared look, though at this point their marriage each could read the other well.

It was Bellamy who spoke first. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Clarke said, excitement bubbling in her stomach at the prospect. “Do you?”

He inhaled sharply before nodding, his nose brushing against her face. “Yes.”

“Then you must answer one question, Mr. Blake.”

“And what is that, my love?”

Clarke stepped away from him, walking backwards to the nearby bed. “Do you prefer me in the shirt,” she began, running her fingers across the hem, “or out of it?”

She was smirking when Bellamy reached her but his deep kiss soon made the look disappear from her countenance. She let Bellamy lead her to lie back on the bed easily, initially welcoming the press of his body against hers into the bed though soon noticing that he was still fully dressed.

“You need to remove these,” Clarke complained as she started pulling at his shirt and Bellamy rolled off her to comply. She reached for the waistband of his pantaloons to assist, but he soon batted her hand away.

When she frowned Bellamy explained that he did not expect much for his composure if her hands were on him in that way. 

“I barely touched you.”

“I am aware,” he remarked flatly but with determination. 

Noticing that the stirring between her legs was more than usually to be expected after only a few kisses, Clarke supposed they were both more excited by the certainty of what was to follow after so long. 

Since she was not allowed to touch, Clarke availed herself of the excellent view of her husband undressing. Tilting her head to the side in appreciation, she came to notice that Bellamy’s shirt carried his scent, which increased her enjoyment of wearing it.

Bellamy’s eyes darkened as he noticed Clarke rubbing her cheek against the linen and he rid himself of the rest of his clothes with even more speed. Clarke’s eyes lit up at the sight of him unclothed, but it was not long before he was rushing to join her in the bed, Clarke giggling at his haste. As they lay down again, she expected a kiss but Bellamy held himself above her for a moment, his eyes lustily running up and down her body. 

She tried not to feel flustered under his intense gaze, one hand unconsciously lifting to smooth her hair out for she was sure it was strewn all about the pillows. 

Bellamy did not seem to notice. “I like seeing you wear something that is mine,” he said darkly.

“I am happy to make it a regular occurence — it is certainly more comfortable than many of my nightgowns, perhaps I should get rid of them.”

“Well,” Bellamy said, cocking his head, “I don’t think there is any need to rid yourself of  _ all  _ your nightgowns. There is one in particular I should like you to keep.”

“Oh?” Clarke prompted as he bent his head to kiss the underside of her chin.

“Yes,” he murmured, trailing kisses down the column of her neck. “The one with the bow right here,” he said, punctuating it with a kiss to the bottom of the open neck of the shirt, in the space just above her breasts.

“Oh — _ ah _ ,” Clarke said, her enjoyment of Bellamy’s actions suddenly tempered when he continued down the same path and her whole body stiffened.

Such a sharp change could not go unnoticed and Bellamy immediately halted, bracing himself above her with a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”

“I — I am feeling a little sore,” Clarke admitted.

Hastily apologising, Bellamy scrambled to move off her and sit up next to her.

“No, it’s alright,” she said, but he remained upright by the headboard, wearing a severe expression. 

“You don’t have to — ”

“I want to — truly,” Clarke insisted, using her arms to push herself up and sit by him. “It is only my breasts. I have been letting Rose feed more since it has been the easiest way to soothe her,” Clarke explained, “but that has made them more tender. And my dress was too tight today, which did not help.”

Bellamy nodded, his countenance lightening. 

Clarke took his hand and brought it under the coverlet to rest on her bare thigh. “I would very much like to continue.”

Bellamy nodded again. She could see that he agreed with her sentiments from the way his hand started to run up and down her leg before he asked, “How do you think you would feel most comfortable?”

Clarke considered for a moment. Then, she shifted onto her knees and straddled Bellamy, her hands coming up to the headboard to steady herself as Bellamy instinctively moved his hands to her hips to keep her in place. 

When Bellamy inquired whether Clarke was still comfortable, she assured him that as long as he avoided touching her breasts she was happy to continue; her eagerness must have been plain for he was smiling when he leaned in for another kiss. 

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar position for the couple — although she generally preferred to feel Bellamy on top of her, she sometimes liked to take control instead —but with their lack of practice  they moved slowly at first, long drawn-out kisses progressing to wandering hands. As they relearned each other’s bodies again and Bellamy paid particular attention to her neck and legs, it wasn’t long before Clarke felt her arousal building. Bellamy’s fingers parted her folds and his careful touch soon became more confident at his wife’s appreciative moans, her preferred ministrations not forgotten by his body. Soon Clarke was biting down into his shoulder as she came on his fingers and the relief of this climax coupled with the feeling of Bellamy’s hard length against her skin made her greedy for another. Clarke eagerly sank down on him, rocking up and down before she proved Bellamy’s earlier prediction correct —having gone so long without the sensation, the pleasure of his wife’s tightness proved too much for him to last more than a few minutes, though he at least had the presence of mind to use his fingers on Clarke and provide her with another release before he enjoyed his own. 

She was half in a daze as she felt Bellamy gently ease her off him to lie back down on the bed, though she graced her husband with a lazy smile when he returned with a cloth and cleaned her carefully. She murmured her thanks and reached for him eagerly when he took his place beside her in bed and adjusted the coverlet around them. 

A peaceful tiredness came over Clarke and she was fully prepared to drift off to sleep, nestling her head into the pillow with the beautiful sight of her husband beside her, until she became aware of something untoward. 

With a frown, she patted the pillow before adjusting her head and closing her eyes. 

A few moments later, Bellamy asked, “What’s the matter?” 

Clarke bit back a wry smile; she had not stirred, not wanting to disturb his rest, but she supposed he could read her too well by now. She opened her eyes and found her husband looking over at her from his pillow with a curious glint in his eyes. 

“Do you think this bed is comfortable?”

Bellamy smiled broadly. “I take it you do not.”

She wriggled in place, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

His countenance turned fond. “Would you like to retire to your chambers?” 

“Only if you are joining me.”

Bellamy smiled his acquiescence, but she was still surprised when he did more than merely stand. 

“Bellamy!” she exclaimed as he lifted her from the bed, carrying her with surprising ease. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he murmured. “I’m putting you to bed.”

“You don’t have to carry me there,” she said, though she did not have a serious objection. 

“Well, wife, I am merely doing my duty,” he said in mock-seriousness. 

“Oh. Very well then,” Clarke said, turning her face into the crook of his neck as he carried her out the room. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! 💕 The tumblr link with the lovely moodboard made by carrievew is [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/634342311446380544/dutiful-bellarke-fanfiction-rated-mature-10k).  
> If you are interested in reading more of my writing in this genre I wrote another Bellarke Regency fic (comedy/romance) earlier this year and I also have various other historical fic for this ship plus other fandoms (including a short original work), all on my [AO3 profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourtelescope).


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